Enidsinclaircore Emojis & Text

Copy & Paste Enidsinclaircore Emojis & Symbols Fandom:Wednesday (TV 2022)Relationship:Wednesday A

Fandom: Wednesday (TV 2022) Relationship: Wednesday Addams/Enid Sinclair hold me tight (or don’t) howtowords https://archiveofourown.org/works/55606831 Summary: In the new semester, Wednesday experiences a growing need for physical affection – usually in the form of hugs – from Enid. The only problem? She has no idea how to ask for something like that. Language:English Stats: Published:2024-05-01 Words:3,009

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Pick Me Up alchemicink Summary: Enid bounces from one foot to the other, searching the crowd for a glimpse of familiar braids and dreary black clothes. https://archiveofourown.org/works/55185997 Fandom: Wednesday (TV 2022) Language:English Stats:Published:2024-04-27 Enid bounces from one foot to the other, searching the crowd for a glimpse of familiar braids and dreary black clothes. She feels like a bee buzzing with anticipation
 though she's not quite sure bees actually do that. (She makes a mental note to ask Wednesday about this later, even though Enid doubts she paid enough attention in Eugene's beekeeping club to know either.) She rises up on her tiptoes, hoping she might get a better view as her search continues. Finally, she grins as she spots Wednesday making her way from the airport baggage claim, looking less than thrilled to be surrounded by so many people. She's glaring at a family clad in colorful Hawaiian shirts when Enid throws one hand up to wave her over. Wednesday doesn't smile when she sees her, but she does look ever so slightly relieved. Enid can't wait to show Wednesday around San Francisco. She already has so many things planned out (and even looked up some weird occult stores she thinks Wednesday might enjoy for souvenirs.) “How was the flight?” “I wish I'd packed a parachute and escaped somewhere over Oklahoma.” Enid didn't realize how much she missed that deadpan delivery until this very moment. She loops an arm around Wednesday’s and starts leading her towards the exit. Wednesday must have missed her too because she doesn't even complain. “By the way, I made a list of places I'd like to visit.” Wednesday hands her a crinkled paper. “...This is just a list of cemeteries.” “Yes.” Enid briefly imagines having a picnic amongst headstones, shudders, and then pockets the list to deal with later. What's important is that she's reunited with Wednesday again, and they're going to have a spectacular time. A very macabre spectacular time, but she can live with that. đŸ€­
Bluescreen CobaltTheFox https://archiveofourown.org/works/14973044/chapters/83344819#workskin Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
@candaru no no. you don't get it. the reason I injure my blorbos until they can't walk is because that's the only way they'll ever let someone else carry them. the reason I curse them to be sick and feverish is so that they'll finally open up about their emotions while delirious. the reason I force them to over exert themselves to the point of exhaustion is so that when they pass out they can finally rest. I'm doing this for their own good. October 21st, 2023, 7:43 AM
hurt/comfort (fandom slang) A genre of fan fiction in which a character receives comfort from another after or while suffering injury, illness, or a traumatic experience. H/C stories appeal to readers in different ways. While genres for these stories range from drama to mystery, many stories are classified by their authors as romances or as “hurt/comfort” stories. Hurt/comfort is a fanwork genre that involves the physical pain or emotional distress of one character, who is cared for by another character. A great trope if you want to bring two characters closer together, or if you want to show how deep their relationship goes.
misscrazyfangirl321 Characters that have never experienced affection before, or haven't experienced it in a long time, finally getting to experience it? Top tier. Said character freezing up for a second, not really knowing how to respond, but not wanting it to stop? T o p t i e r. Said character trying to clumsily return the affection in their own way, because this is Good and they don't want it to stop? T O P T I E R.
ᔀʰᔉ Ꮁⁿᔈ đ–đšđ«đ§đąđ§đ đŹ â•°â”ˆâž€đƒđ€đ‘đŠ âœá”†á”–á”’âżá”á”‰áŽźá”’á”‡ á¶ á”ƒâżá¶ â±á¶œâŸ đ–đšđ«đ§đąđ§đ đŹ â•°â”ˆâž€đƒđ€đ‘đŠ ᔀʰᔉ á¶ ËĄÊžâ±âżá” á”ˆÊłá”’âżá”‰ Êłá”‰á”—á”˜Êłâżá”‰á”ˆ á”—á”’ áŽŸËĄá”ƒâżá”á”—á”’âż ʷⁱᔗʰ ᔗʰᔉ ᔇᔒᔗᔗ˥ᔉ‧ "Êžá”‰Ëą!" ᎎᔉ ᔍᔒᔗ ᔗʰᔉ ᔇᔒᔗᔗ˥ᔉ! áŽźá”˜á”— Ê·Ê°á”‰âż ʰᔉ Êłá”‰á”ƒá”ˆ ᔗʰᔉ ᶠⁱⁿᔃ˥ â±âżá”Êłá”‰á”ˆâ±á”‰âżá”—âžŽ áŽŸËĄá”ƒâżá”á”—á”’âż'Ëą ᔐᔒᔒᔈ â±á”á”á”‰á”ˆâ±á”ƒá”—á”‰ËĄÊž á¶œÊ°á”ƒâżá”á”‰á”ˆâ€§ "ᔂʰᔃᔗ ⁱ˹ ⁱᔗ?" áŽ·á”ƒÊłá”‰âż á”ƒËąá”á”‰á”ˆâžŽ Ëąá”‰á”‰â±âżá” ʰⁱᔐ á¶ Êłá”’á¶»á”‰âż ⁱⁿ á”˜á”—á”—á”‰Êł á¶ á”‰á”ƒÊłâ€§ á¶ á”’ËĄËĄá”’Ê·â±âżá” Ê°â±Ëą ᔍᔃᶻᔉ➎ ËąÊ°á”‰ Ëąá”ƒÊ· Ê·Ê°á”‰Êłá”‰ ⁱᔗ Êłá”‰á”ƒá”ˆ 'ᶜᔒᔖᔉᔖᔒᔈ' ᔃ˹ ᔗʰᔉ ËĄá”ƒËąá”—âžŽ ʷⁱᔗʰ 'á”–Êłá”’á”—á”’á¶»á”’á”ƒ' á”‡á”‰â±âżá” á”–á”ƒÊłá”— ᔒᶠ ᔗʰᔉ Ëąá”‰á¶œÊłá”‰á”— Ëąá”ƒá”˜á¶œá”‰â€§ áŽčÊłâ€§ áŽ·Êłá”ƒá”‡Ëą Ê·á”ƒËą á”˜âżá”âżá”’Ê·â±âżá”ËĄÊž á”‡á”‰â±âżá” á¶ á”’ËĄËĄá”’Ê·á”‰á”ˆ ᔇʞ Ëąá”–á”’âżá”á”‰á”‡á”’á”‡ ᔃ˹ ʰᔉ Êłá”‰á”ƒËĄâ±Ëąá”‰á”ˆ áŽŸËĄá”ƒâżá”á”—á”’âż ᔍᔒᔗ ᔗʰᔉ ᔇᔒᔗᔗ˥ᔉ‧ á”†á”–á”’âżá”á”‰á”‡á”’á”‡ Ëąá”ƒÊ· ʷʰᔃᔗ'Ëą ËĄâ±Ëąá”—á”‰á”ˆ ᔒⁿ ᔗʰᔉ á”–á”ƒá”–á”‰ÊłâžŽ Ê°â±á”ˆâ±âżá” ᔃ˹ áŽčÊłâ€§ áŽ·Êłá”ƒá”‡Ëą Ê·á”‰âżá”— ⁱⁿ ᔗʰᔉ ᶜʰᔘᔐ ᔇᔘᶜᔏᔉᔗ‧ "ʞᔒᔘ'ᔛᔉ ˹ᔉᔉⁿ á”—á”’ ᔐᔘᶜʰ‧‧‧" áŽčÊłâ€§ áŽ·Êłá”ƒá”‡Ëą ˹ᔃⁱᔈ á”—á”’ áŽŸËĄá”ƒâżá”á”—á”’âżâ€§ "ᔆᔃʞ ᔇʞᔉ á”—á”’ Êžá”’á”˜Êł Ëąá”–á”’á”˜Ëąá”‰'˱‧‧‧" áŽčÊłâ€§ áŽ·Êłá”ƒá”‡Ëą á”—á”’ËĄá”ˆ ᔃ˹ ʰᔉ á”ˆá”‰Ëąá”—Êłá”’Êžá”‰á”ˆ áŽ·á”ƒÊłá”‰âż á”‡á”‰Êžá”’âżá”ˆ Êłá”‰á”–á”ƒâ±Êłâ€§ áŽŸËĄá”ƒâżá”á”—á”’âż á”á”ƒËąá”–á”‰á”ˆ ᔃ˹ ËąÊ°á”‰ ᶠᔉ˥˥ ⁱⁿ á”‡Êłá”’á”á”‰âż á”–â±á”‰á¶œá”‰Ëąâ€§ "ʞᔒᔘ'Êłá”‰ á”á”’âżâżá”ƒ ᔇᔉ ⁿᔉˣᔗ ᔘᔖ‧‧‧" "áŽ·Êłá”ƒá”‡Ëą á”–ËĄá”‰á”ƒËąá”‰! áŽșᔒ➎ á”ˆá”’âż'ᔗ‧‧‧" áŽŸËĄá”ƒâżá”á”—á”’âż'Ëą á”–ËĄá”‰á”ƒËąá”‰ Ê·á”‰âżá”— á”˜âżá¶ â±âżâ±ËąÊ°á”‰á”ˆ ᔃ˹ áŽčÊłâ€§ áŽ·Êłá”ƒá”‡Ëą ʰⁱᔗ Ê°â±Ëą ᶠᔃᶜᔉ Êłá”‰âżá”ˆá”‰Êłâ±âżá” ʰⁱᔐ á”˜âżá¶œá”’âżËąá¶œâ±á”’á”˜Ëąâ€§ "áŽșá”’Ê· ʞᔒᔘ Ê·á”’âż'á”— á”âżá”’Ê· Ê·Ê°á”‰Êłá”‰ ʞᔒᔘ Ê·á”‰âżá”— ᔃ˹ ᎔ ᔖᔘᔗ ʞᔒᔘ ⁱⁿ ᔐᔉ á”˜âżá”ˆá”‰Êłá”Êłá”’á”˜âżá”ˆ á”˜âżâ±á”—! ʞᔒᔘ'ËĄËĄ ᶠᔉᔉ˥ ᔗʰᔉ á”–á”ƒâ±âż Ê·Ê°á”‰âżá”‰á”›á”‰Êł ʞᔒᔘ Ê·á”ƒá”á”‰âżâ€§â€§â€§" á”†á”–á”’âżá”á”‰á”‡á”’á”‡ ʷᔃᔗᶜʰᔉᔈ ᔃ˹ Ê°â±Ëą ᔇᔒ˹˹ ᔗᔒᔒᔏ ʰⁱᔐ á”—á”’ ˹ᔃⁱᔈ á”˜âżá”ˆá”‰Êłá”Êłá”’á”˜âżá”ˆ á”˜âżâ±á”—â€§ "Ꮇᔉᔉᔖ ʞᔒᔘ á”˜âżá”—â±ËĄ ᎔ âżá”‰á”‰á”ˆ ᔃ âżá”‰Ê· ᔇᔃᔗᶜʰ Ê·Ê°á”‰âż ʷᔉ Êłá”˜âż ᔒᔘᔗ ᔒᶠ ᔖᔃᔗᔗʞ ᔐᔉᔃᔗ‧‧‧" ᔆᔃⁱᔈ áŽčÊłâ€§ áŽ·Êłá”ƒá”‡Ëą ᔃ˹ ʰᔉ Ëąá”ƒÊ· á”†á”–á”’âżá”á”‰á”‡á”’á”‡ á”‡á”‰Ê°â±âżá”ˆ ʰⁱᔐ ⁱⁿ á”—á”‰á”ƒÊłËąâ€§ "á”†á”’ÊłÊłÊžâžŽ ᔇᔒʞ; ᎔ á¶œá”ƒâż'á”— á”ƒá¶ á¶ á”’Êłá”ˆ ʞᔒᔘ á”âżá”’Ê·â±âżá” á”’Êł Ê°á”‰ËĄá”–â±âżá” ʰⁱᔐ‧ áŽłá”’á”’á”ˆâżâ±á”Ê°á”—!" áŽčÊłâ€§ áŽ·Êłá”ƒá”‡Ëą ËĄá”’á¶œá”á”‰á”ˆ ʰⁱᔐ ⁱⁿ ʷⁱᔗʰ áŽŸËĄá”ƒâżá”á”—á”’âżâ€§ "ʞᔒᔘ'Êłá”‰ ᔃ á¶»á”’á”’á”–ËĄá”ƒâżá”á”—á”’âżâžŽ ᔃⁿᔈ áŽčÊłâ€§ áŽ·Êłá”ƒá”‡Ëą Ê·â±ËĄËĄ á”˜Ëąá”‰ ʞᔒᔘ á”—á”’ ᔐᔃᔏᔉ ᔗʰᔉ ⁿᔉˣᔗ ᔇᔃᔗᶜʰ‧‧‧" á”†á”–á”’âżá”á”‰á”‡á”’á”‡ Ëąá”’á”‡á”‡á”‰á”ˆ á”—á”’ áŽŸËĄá”ƒâżá”á”—á”’âż Ê·Ê°á”’ ˹ᔗⁱ˥˥ Ê·á”ƒËąâż'á”— á”á”’á”›â±âżá”â€§ "ʞᔒᔘ âżá”‰á”‰á”ˆ á”—á”’ ʷᔃᔏᔉ ᔘᔖ‧‧‧" "ᔂʰᔃᔗ'Ëą á”á”’â±âżá” ᔒⁿ? áŽŹÊ°Ê°â€§â€§â€§" áŽŸËĄá”ƒâżá”á”—á”’âż Ê·â±âżá¶œá”‰á”ˆ ᔃ˹ ʰᔉ Êłá”‰á”á”ƒâ±âżá”‰á”ˆ Ê°â±Ëą á¶œá”’âżËąá¶œâ±á”’á”˜Ëąâżá”‰ËąËą âżá”’á”—â±á¶œâ±âżá” á”†á”–á”’âżá”á”‰á”‡á”’á”‡ Ê°á”’ËĄá”ˆâ±âżá” ᔒⁿᔉ ᔒᶠ Ê°â±Ëą Ê°á”ƒâżá”ˆËąâ€§ "áŽŸËĄá”ƒâżá”á”—á”’âżâžŽ ʰⁱ‧ ᎔ᔗ'Ëą Ëąá”–á”’âżá”á”‰á”‡á”’á”‡â€§ ᔂᔉ á”ƒÊłá”‰ ⁱⁿ á”—Êłá”’á”˜á”‡ËĄá”‰âžŽ ᔇᔘᔗ ᎔ á”âżá”’Ê· Ê·Ê°á”‰Êłá”‰ ʷᔉ á”ƒÊłá”‰âžŽ ʷʰⁱᶜʰ ⁱ˹ á”˜âżá”ˆá”‰Êłâżá”‰á”ƒá”—Ê° ᔗʰᔉ á”Êłá”˜Ëąá”—Êž á”Êłá”ƒá”‡â€§ ᔂᔉ ʰᔃᔛᔉ á”—á”’ á¶ â±á”á”˜Êłá”‰ ᔒᔘᔗ ᔃⁿ á”‰Ëąá¶œá”ƒá”–á”‰âžŽ ᔇᔘᔗ ʷᔉ'Êłá”‰ ËĄá”’á¶œá”á”‰á”ˆ ⁱⁿ‧ ᎔ ᔈⁱᔈⁿ'á”— á”âżá”’Ê· ᔃᔇᔒᔘᔗ ʷʰᔃᔗ'Ëą ⁱⁿ ᔗʰᔉ Êłá”‰á¶œâ±á”–á”‰âžŽ ᔃⁿᔈ ᎔ âżá”‰á”›á”‰Êł Ê·á”’á”˜ËĄá”ˆ'ᔛᔉ Ëąá”˜Ëąá”–á”‰á¶œá”—á”‰á”ˆ Ëąá”˜á¶œÊ° ᔃ á”—Ê°â±âżá” ⁱⁿ ᔗʰᔉ á¶ á”’Êłá”á”˜ËĄá”ƒâ€§ á¶ Êłá”’á” âżá”’Ê· ᔒⁿ➎ ᎔'ᔐ Êžá”’á”˜Êł Ëąâ±á”ˆá”‰â€§â€§â€§" á”†á”–á”’âżá”á”‰á”‡á”’á”‡ Ëąá”ƒá”— ʰⁱᔐ ᔘᔖ‧ "᎔ᔗ'Ëą ᔗⁱᔐᔉ; ᔗʰᔉ á”–á”ƒá”—á”—â±á”‰Ëą á”ƒÊłá”‰ Êłá”˜âżâżâ±âżá” ËĄá”’Ê·â€§â€§â€§" áŽčÊłâ€§ áŽ·Êłá”ƒá”‡Ëą ˹ᔃⁱᔈ ᔃ˹ ʰᔉ ᔍᔒᔗ áŽŸËĄá”ƒâżá”á”—á”’âżâ€§ ᎔ⁿ ᔗʰᔉ á¶œÊ°á”ƒá”á”‡á”‰ÊłâžŽ ʰᔉ ᔗᔒᔒᔏ ʰⁱᔐ á”—á”’ á”ƒâżá”’á”—Ê°á”‰Êł Êłá”’á”’á”â€§ "᎔ᶠ ʞᔒᔘ á”ˆá”’âż'á”— â±á”á”á”‰á”ˆâ±á”ƒá”—á”‰ËĄÊž Ëąá”˜á¶œá¶œá”˜á”á”‡âžŽ ʞᔒᔘ ˹ᔗⁱ˥˥ Ê·á”’âż'á”— ᔐᔃᔏᔉ ⁱᔗ á”—á”’ á”—á”’á”á”’ÊłÊłá”’Ê·â€§ ᎔'ËĄËĄ ᔇᔉ á”á”ƒá”â±âżá” á”‡á”ƒá”—á¶œÊ°á”‰Ëą ᔒᶠ á”–á”ƒá”—á”—â±á”‰Ëą á”—á”’á”á”’ÊłÊłá”’Ê·âžŽ Ëąá”’ ᎔'ËĄËĄ âżá”‰á”‰á”ˆ ᔃ˥˥ ᔒᶠ ᔐᔉ â±âżá”Êłá”‰á”ˆâ±á”‰âżá”—Ëąâ€§â€§â€§" áŽčÊłâ€§ áŽ·Êłá”ƒá”‡Ëą á”—á”’ËĄá”ˆ áŽŸËĄá”ƒâżá”á”—á”’âżâ€§ "áŽșᔒʷ➎ ᔍᔒᔒᔈᔇʞᔉ‧‧‧" á”‚Ê°á”‰âż áŽčÊłâ€§ áŽ·Êłá”ƒá”‡Ëą Ê·á”‰âżá”— á¶œËĄá”’Ëąá”‰á”ˆ ᔘᔖ ËąÊ°á”’á”– ËĄá”’á¶œá”á”‰á”ˆ á¶ á”’Êł ᔗʰᔉ ᔈᔃʞ➎ Ëąá”–á”’âżá”á”‰ ᔇᔒᔇ á”˜Ëąá”‰á”ˆ Ê°â±Ëą ËąÊ°á”’á”‰ËĄá”ƒá¶œá”‰Ëą á”—á”’ ᔐᔃᔏᔉ á”˜âżËĄá”’á¶œá”â€§ "ᔀᔒᔒᔏ ᔐᔉ ᔃ˥˥ ᔈᔃʞ➎ âżá”’Ê· ᎔ âżá”‰á”‰á”ˆ á”—á”’ ᶠⁱⁿᔈ áŽŸËĄá”ƒâżá”á”—á”’âżâ€§â€§â€§" á”†á”–á”’âżá”á”‰á”‡á”’á”‡ á”‰á”›á”‰âżá”—á”˜á”ƒËĄËĄÊž á¶ á”’á”˜âżá”ˆ ʰⁱᔐ á”‡á”ƒá”ˆËĄÊž á”‡á”‰á”ƒá”—á”‰âż ᔇᔒᔈʞ‧ "ᎌʰ➎ áŽŸËĄá”ƒâżá”á”—á”’âżâ€§â€§â€§" á”†á”–á”’âżá”á”‰á”‡á”’á”‡ ᔍᔒᔗ ʰⁱᔐ ᔒᔘᔗ‧ "á”†á”ƒâżá”ˆÊž!" á”†á”–á”’âżá”á”‰á”‡á”’á”‡ á¶ Êłá”ƒâżá”—â±á¶œá”ƒËĄËĄÊž á”–á”’á”˜âżá”ˆá”‰á”ˆ ᔒⁿ ᔗʰᔉ á”ˆá”’á”’Êł ᔒᶠ Ê°á”‰Êł á”—Êłá”‰á”‰ ᔈᔒᔐᔉ‧ á”†á”–á”’âżá”á”‰á”‡á”’á”‡ á”‰ËŁá”–ËĄá”ƒâ±âżá”‰á”ˆ ᔃ˹ ʰᔉ á”–Êłá”‰ËąËąá”‰á”ˆ Ê°á”‰Êł á”‡á”˜á¶»á¶»á”‰Êłâ€§ "ᔂᔉ ᔈᔒ ⁿᔒᔗ ʰᔃᔛᔉ ᔐᔘᶜʰ ᔗⁱᔐᔉ! áŽŽá”˜ÊłÊłÊžâžŽ á”–ËĄá”‰á”ƒËąá”‰!" á”†á”ƒâżá”ˆÊž á”‡Êłá”’á”˜á”Ê°á”— ᔒᔘᔗ Ê°á”‰Êł á”’Ê·âż á”‰á‘«á”˜â±á”–á”á”‰âżá”—â€§ "ᎎᔉ'Ëą ˹ᔗⁱ˥˥ á”‡á”ƒÊłá”‰ËĄÊž á”ƒËĄâ±á”›á”‰âžŽ ᔇᔘᔗ á”‡á”ƒÊłá”‰ËĄÊžâ€§ ᔂᔉ âżá”‰á”‰á”ˆ á”—á”’ ᔃᶜᔗ á‘«á”˜â±á¶œá”ËĄÊžâžŽ Ëąá”’ á”ˆá”’âż'á”— Ëąá”—á”’á”– ᔐᔉ á”—á”’ á”ƒËąá” á‘«á”˜á”‰Ëąá”—â±á”’âżËą; ᔈᔒ ᔃ˹ ᎔ Ëąá”ƒÊž Ê·Ê°á”‰âż ᎔ Ëąá”ƒÊž ⁱᔗ!" á”†á”ƒâżá”ˆÊž ˹ᔃⁱᔈ Ê·Ê°â±ËĄËąá”— Ëąá”‰á”—á”—â±âżá” ᔘᔖ‧ áŽźá”’á”—Ê° ᔒᶠ ᔗʰᔉᔐ Ê·á”’Êłá”á”‰á”ˆ á”—á”’ Ëąá”ƒá”›á”‰ ʰⁱᔐ á¶ Êłá”’á” á”ˆÊžâ±âżá”â€§ "ᔂᔉ'Êłá”‰ á”ˆá”’â±âżá” á”‰á”›á”‰ÊłÊžá”—Ê°â±âżá” ʷᔉ á”–á”’ËąËąâ±á”‡ËĄÊž á¶œá”ƒâż ᔇᔘᔗ ʰᔉ'Ëą ⁱⁿ ᔇᔃᔈ ËąÊ°á”ƒá”–á”‰â€§â€§â€§" á”†á”ƒâżá”ˆÊž á”—á”’ËĄá”ˆ Ëąá”–á”’âżá”á”‰á”‡á”’á”‡â€§ "᎔'ËĄËĄ á”—ÊłÊž á”—á”’ ᔍᔉᔗ áŽŸËĄá”ƒâżá”á”—á”’âż á”—á”’ á”‡Êłá”‰á”ƒá”—Ê°á”‰ Ëąá”—á”‰á”ƒá”ˆâ±ËĄÊž ᔒⁿ Ê°â±Ëą á”’Ê·âż; ⁱᔗ'Ëą ᔃ˥˥ ʷʰᔃᔗ á¶œá”ƒâż ᔇᔉ á”ˆá”’âżá”‰â€§ ʞᔒᔘ âżá”‰á”‰á”ˆ á”—á”’ á”á”‰á”ƒâżÊ·Ê°â±ËĄá”‰ ᔐᔃᔏᔉ Ëąá”˜Êłá”‰ á”—á”’ Ëąá”—á”’á”– áŽčÊłâ€§ áŽ·Êłá”ƒá”‡Ëą ᔇʞ á”—Ê°â±âżá”â±âżá” ᔃʰᔉᔃᔈ; ᔉˣᔖᔒ˹ᔉ ᔗʰᔉ Êłá”‰á¶œâ±á”–á”‰âžŽ ᔐᔃᔏᔉ ᔃ ᔈᔉᶜᔒʞ ᔒᶠ áŽŸËĄá”ƒâżá”á”—á”’âżâžŽ ᔉᔗᶜ‧" á”†á”–á”’âżá”á”‰á”‡á”’á”‡ ᶜᔃᔐᔉ ᔇᔃᶜᔏ ᔃ˹ áŽŸËĄá”ƒâżá”á”—á”’âż ᔃʷᔒᔏᔉ ᔃⁿᔈ Ëąá”—á”ƒÊłá”—á”‰á”ˆ á”—á”’ Êłá”‰á”â±Ëąá”—á”‰Êł Ê°â±Ëą Ëąá”˜ÊłÊłá”’á”˜âżá”ˆâ±âżá”Ëąâ€§ "ʞᔒᔘ'Êłá”‰ á”á”’âżâżá”ƒ ᔐᔃᔏᔉ ⁱᔗ‧‧‧" "á¶œá”ƒâż ʞᔒᔘ ᔒᔖᔉⁿ Êžá”’á”˜Êł ᔉʞᔉ?" áŽŸËĄá”ƒâżá”á”—á”’âż Ê°á”‰á”ƒÊłá”ˆ ᔃ˹ ʰᔉ Êłá”‰á¶œá”’á”›á”‰Êłá”‰á”ˆâ€§ "᎔ᔗ'Ëą á”ƒËĄá”á”’Ëąá”— á”’á”–á”‰âżâ±âżá” ᔗⁱᔐᔉ; ʷᔉ âżá”‰á”‰á”ˆ á”—á”’ ᶠⁱⁿᔈ ᔃ Ëąá”ƒá¶ á”‰ Ê°â±á”ˆâ±âżá”â€§â€§â€§" "á”†á”–á”’âżá”á”‰á”‡á”’á”‡â€§â€§â€§ ᎔‧‧‧" "á”†á”ƒâżá”ˆÊžâžŽ á”—Ê°á”ƒâżá” ʞᔒᔘ‧‧‧" "á”†á”˜Êłá”‰âžŽ Ëąá”–á”’âżá”á”‰á”‡á”’á”‡â€§ ᎔ᶠ ʞᔒᔘ Ê·á”ƒâżá”—âžŽ ᎔ á¶œá”ƒâż Ëąá”‰âżá”ˆ ᔃ ᶜᔒᔖʞ ᔒᶠ ᔗʰᔉ â±âżá”Êłá”‰á”ˆâ±á”‰âżá”—Ëą á”—á”’ áŽŸá”‰Êłá¶œÊ° áŽŸá”‰Êłá”â±âżËą ᔃⁿᔈ ʰᔃᔛᔉ ᔗʰᔉ âżá”‰Ê·Ëą á¶œÊłá”‰Ê· ᔍᔒ á”—á”’ ᔗʰᔉ á”Êłá”˜Ëąá”—Êž á”Êłá”ƒá”‡â€§â€§â€§" "Êžá”‰Ëą!" 'áŽŸá”‰Êłá¶œÊ° áŽŸá”‰Êłá”â±âżËą ˥ⁱᔛᔉ ᔃᔗ ᔗʰᔉ Ëąá¶œá”‰âżá”‰âžŽ ᔃ˹ ʷᔉ ˹ᔉᔉ áŽčÊłâ€§ áŽ±á”˜á”á”‰âżá”‰ áŽ·Êłá”ƒá”‡Ëą âżá”’Ê· á¶ á”’á”˜âżá”ˆ á”á”˜â±ËĄá”—Êž ᔒᶠ á”˜âżËąá”–á”‰á”ƒá”á”ƒá”‡ËĄá”‰ á¶œÊłâ±á”á”‰Ëą ᔃⁿᔈ á”ƒá”—Êłá”’á¶œâ±á”—â±á”‰Ëąâ€§ ᎎⁱ˹ Êłá”‰Ëąá”—á”ƒá”˜Êłá”ƒâżá”— Ê°á”ƒËą á¶œËĄá”’Ëąá”‰á”ˆ á”ˆá”’Ê·âż ᔃⁿᔈ ʰᔉ á¶ á”ƒá¶œá”‰Ëą á¶œÊ°á”ƒÊłá”á”‰Ëą ᔒᶠ Êłá”’á”‡á”’ËąËĄá”ƒá”˜á”Ê°á”—á”‰Êł ᔛⁱ́ᔃ á”á”ƒá¶œÊ°â±âżâ±á¶œâ±á”ˆá”‰ ᔃⁿᔈ á”ƒÊłÊłá”‰Ëąá”—á”‰á”ˆ á¶ á”’Êł á”‡á”˜á”—á¶œÊ°á”‰Êłâ±âżá”â€§' puƎ ǝɄꓕ
Nov 20, 2014 — One character is either physically or emotionally wounded in some way. Another character supplies nurturing and draws out the other’s pain. How many times have we all read this trope in one form or another, usually with a brooding hero who hides sorrow under a stoic mask? Only a special someone can reach through the layers to the vulnerable underneath. What draws romance readers to such scenarios over and over? It’s a great coping mechanism. To see them get back up. It gives our characters a chance to shine. Because it's character building. The comfort is the main fanservice being provided; the hurt is usually an excuse. Of course, the crux of hurt/comfort is that it’s never really one-sided. Whatever is lacking or damaged in the nurturer is also fixed by the nurturee. “You complete me” becomes “we complete each other” Posted on November 20, 2014
@BrennanSpeaks ‱ 3y ago h/c lets me push characters to extremes. Someone who's normally very competent might end up facing challenges they can't overcome on their own. Someone who's usually very reserved and stoic might express more emotion, and said emotion becomes that much more meaningful. Characters figure out what's important to them in moments of suffering or life-threatening peril. And the comfort afterwards allows for the forging or renewing of relationships.
Osomatsu Summary: Musings on a teammate. (SPOILERS FOR SPONGE OUT OF WATER!) https://archiveofourown.org/works/4938325 Relationship: Spongebob Squarepants/Sheldon J. Plankton Language:English Stats:Published:2015-10-05Words:1,194
Gary Becomes A Bikini Bottom Celeb!...almost by Ollipoplay Gary, that oh so fun-loving snail finds himself in one of Plankton's schemes, involving, what else, KRABBY PATTIES! English, Humor & Parody, words: 467, Sep 5, 2002 "Gary, it's time for breakfast!" SpongeBob said, filling Gary's bowl with some delectable snail treat. "Meoww," he purred happily, his eyes spreading apart and coming together again. He munched on his food while SpongeBob got ready for another rousing day at the Krusty Krab. "Well Gary ole buddy, I'll see you later!" "Meow." Walking down the road to work, shoes squeaking, SpongeBob met up with Squidward, who was riding his bicycle. "La dee da, ! Hi Squidward!" In his usual monotone, Squidward answered slowly. "Hello SpongeBob." Bouncing on his skinny, socked legs, SpongeBob cheered. "It's off to work we go!" "Yay." Meanwhile, at the pineapple. "Meow." Gary waited for his buddy SpongeBob to leave and decided soon after that it was time for his daily exercises. He rolled over, and then rolled back and onto his side, stretching out his "foot". He could feel the burn and was so far happy with the day's results. He loved exercising; it was a lot of fun for him and very satisfying. It was something he did once per day, and once per day only. Outside, someone very small was hopping and scumming along. He looked around suspiciously, watching for any movement. There could only be one creature in Bikini Bottom like that, who else could it be but that the one- eyed unibrow . "Now! He has to have the key to the Krusty Krab in there somewhere," the one-eyed sea thing mused, standing on the windowsill of the pineapple. "But where? After winning employee-of-the-month such a large number of times, he must have the key to lock up! He is wait! Wouldn't he have it with him?" Plankton kicked the window in frustration and cried out in pain. "Another plan lost!" he yelled. Suddenly, while tending to his tiny, swollen leg, he noticed something strange going on inside. "Meow" he heard faintly through the glass, as Gary stood on his eyes, then on just one, then the other. Once finished he started doing flips, sometimes doing 360s and even 540s. He always landed on his foot, like any respectable snail. "Well now, that there is inters-wait! I have another plan! If I tell that intensely naĂŻve sponge that his pet has a special talent and I wanted to make him a star, he would let me! I would make enough money to BUY the Krusty Krab and have the recipe all to myself! The Chum Bucket will be famous for its Krabby Patties! Ahahaha!" He rubbed his tiny hands together and plotted deviously. End
Dennis is back, and he wants revenge; he doesn't care how he gets his way and who's going to feel it - not Plankton, not Plankton's family, not even Squidward. https://archiveofourown.org/series/2068545 Dennis has come back ready to show ALL of them what he is capable of doing.
A fresh beginning Aquietwriter25 Summary: Takes place after spongebob movie: SpongeBob out of water. The events leave spongebob to leave bikini bottom realizing those who he loved just couldn't be forgiven. Words:762 A fresh beginning Aquietwriter25 'I QUIT.' Spongebob sighed putting the last of his items in what had to be the 10th box. His parents would be by tomorrow to pick him up. It was weird to be leaving Bikini bottom. But when your so called friends and employees and pretty much the whole town turned on you. It changed your mindset. A soft knocking prompted spongebob to jolt out of his thoughts, looking at the window his lips twitched at the familiar face who had been the only one on his side. "Plankton". Spongebob greeted opening the window closing it after. "What are you doing here?". "I heard screaming earlier today. Come to find out you quit". Plankton cleared his throat. "Wanted to make sure you were ok". "Thanks Plankton". Spongebob's smile tired. "I'm doing as well as can be expected given the circumstances". "You didn't waste anytime packing". "Well when your friends go to sacrifice you for a sandwich". Spongebob shrugged. "I never thought I would hear you out of all people use the term for a sandwich with the krabby patty". "This whole adventure has put things into perspective for me. The last several years I have worked for a boss who I thought cared about me. Someone who I looked at as a father figure. But not only did he not listen when I told him you didn't take the formula. But he and everyone else went as far as trying to sacrifice me for it. Maybe my krabby patty being gone. Will show the town just how much they changed because of it". "Wow that's deep". "So what about you?". SpongeBob sat on his chair. "Any luck with karen?". "I gave her parts to sandy. Unfortunately I don't have the equipment to even remotely try to bring her back together and to be honest I think she'd be better off with sandy. They got close. Truth is they harboured feelings for each other". "Well that's new". Spongebob blinked. "But honestly not surprising". "I honestly don't know what I am going to do now. With the krabby Patty's fate unknown. And Karen gone.". Plankton trailed off. Spongebob gazed at Plankton whose features looked exhausted. This was a every day thing for him wasn't it? It has been so hard to accept that his friends, employees, his boss had turned on him like this. But this was a everyday thing for Plankton. "Come with me". Spongebob blurted out. "Come with me. I will be bringing my home. Starting a new life in my parents hometown. It's small more country". The Sponge shrugged. "But there are a lot nicer people there. You talked about at one point having a flower shop. You could do well in a town like this. "You really think we'd do well living together?". "We've been through the apocalypse". Spongebob grinned. "I think living together would be a cake walk. Sides i think some of the folks there would appreciate your inventions". The air was silent. "You don't have to of course". Spongebob's voice soft. "I know it's a lot of change. You made me feel safe, protected. I don't want to be without you in my life". Plankton's eye softened jumping onto spongebob's arm, pressing into his face. "Count me in. I don't want to be without you either kid." Plankton jumped off the Sponge before leaping onto the windowsill pulling a few suitcases out that had been hidden. "I had hoped you would invite me". Laughing quietly Spongebob offered a hand to Plankton who hopped onto it. "Guess where doing this then". His eyes shining ever so little. "We are a te am". Plankton grinned. "A team". "A team". Spongebob agreed. Pressing their heads together they enjoyed the quietness before "C'mon we got a lot to do tomorrow we should get some rest". "Stay the night?". "Well given we leave tomorrow that makes the most sense". Plankton shrugged. "Sides". His lips twitched. "I wouldn't leave you alone tonight even if I wasn't coming". "Thanks Plankton". Grinning sleepily spongebob took his new roommate to his room, but not before brushing his teeth. Flopping into bed SpongeBob nuzzled into his pillow. His eyes fluttered open when he felt somthing press into him. "Get some rest kid". Plankton rubbed the Sponges head who let out a sleepy sound. "We have a long day tomorrow". Eyes fluttering shut spongebob snored softly, exhaustion finally winning over. A rare genuine smile crossed Plankton's face gazing up at the moon shining through the window. A new start A new life.
https://archiveofourown.org/works/41690487/chapters/105246894#workskin A Cry For Kelp DiscardMyHeart Fandom: SpongeBob SquarePants (Cartoon) Characters: Squidward Tentacles, Sheldon J. Plankton, Karen (SpongeBob)Eugene Krabs https://archiveofourown.org/works/41690487/chapters/104866263#workskin Language: English Stats: Published:2022 https://archiveofourown.org/works/41690487/chapters/105246894#workskin
https://m.webtoons.com/en/canvas/the-secert-formula/list?title_no=936232
The phrase “comfort character” is part of that pop culture landscape. What is a “comfort character”? Everything You Need to Know about Comfort Characters By: Author Marcel Iseli Posted on Last updated: April 18, 2023 What is a “comfort character”? A comfort character is a character in a fictional world, such as a TV show, movie, game, book, or comic, that a person strongly identifies with and takes comfort from. They may use thoughts of the comfort character to help them through hard times. The person will simply feel drawn toward the character. Even if you have never encountered the term before, you probably know this feeling of really liking or identifying with a character. When the person feels down, they could watch, read or play whatever this character appears in and then feel better after spending some time with the character. Strong identification with a character is another way a person may choose a comfort character. For example, maybe there is a main character in a movie who has a story arc that show them becoming a more confident person. Someone who identified with this comfort character might struggle with their confidence as well. When they were in situations where they lacked confidence, they could think about how this character handled similar situations. The concept of comfort characters is very popular in online fandom. “Fandom” refers to any community that arises around a piece of media, whether that’s a game, a popular show, a book, a comic or a movie. It’s a little bit different from simply being a fan of something. People involved in a fandom often belong to internet communities that talk about these characters a lot. They might attend meetups or conventions based around this fandom and dress up like the character. It’s also very common for them to create their own art around the stories that they love. For example, they might draw pictures of the character in various situations, or they might write new stories about adventures that the characters have beyond the scope of the original tale that they came from. In fact, you might find some accounts entirely devoted to comfort characters, sometimes called “stan accounts.” “Stan” is slang that refers to being a big fan of something or someone. How comfort characters help People report comfort characters helping them in very real ways in their lives. If they struggle with anxiety and panic attacks, thinking about their comfort character can often help stave off these feelings. There has been some research that shows that these characters can have a positive effect on fans, encouraging them to act in ways that are more beneficial for them. For most people, comfort characters are fun, beneficial ways to better enjoy the stories they love.
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𝕰𝖓𝖎𝖉❜𝖘 𝖌𝖗𝖔𝖜𝖎𝖓𝖌 𝖔𝖓 𝖒𝖊, 𝖑𝖎𝖐𝖊 𝖆 𝖋𝖑𝖊𝖘𝖍 𝖊𝖆𝖙𝖎𝖓𝖌 𝖋𝖚𝖓𝖌𝖚𝖘... ~đ”šđ”ąđ”Ąđ”«đ”ąđ”°đ”Ąđ”žđ”¶ 𝔄𝔡𝔡𝔞đ”Ș𝔰
henshengs Tbh I think fandom generally needs to get better at sitting with the uncomfortable fact that a story/fanwork/meme/whatever can hurt one person and help another sensicalabsurdities This is why I think “tag warning” culture is kinder and more constructive than cancel culture / “no problematic content” culture. One size does not fit all, but if we learn to be more aware of the fact that the same thing can be emotionally validating or cathartic to one person and upsetting to another, and pick up a general mindset of thinking before we post, “what might people need a heads up for in this content?”, we grow more compassionate, more thoughtful, and more understanding of the differences in people’s experiences.
one of the most significant misconceptions i fear some people have about whump is that it’s sadism. For a lot of us, it’s masochist. I can’t speak for everyone in the whump community, but for myself and most of the people i’ve interacted with, we’re empathising with the whumpee, not the whumper. We’re experiencing second- hand their paın and catharsis, and also (my favourite part) the concern and care they receive from others but like
 i can totally imagine what it would look like for outsiders coming across our blogs where we consistently fantasise about our favourite characters in absolute agony lol
X wasn’t quite sure whether to approach his wife, Y, about what he’d seen. On one hand, he didn’t want to distress her, but the weight on the other felt as if it were being crushed under the weight. Once he’d retreated inside, he clambered onto the first table he saw, rather than going off to find her. Alas, the peace barely lasted more than a few seconds. “X!” Y burst from the kitchen door, startling the other out of his thoughts. “It’s been a long day Y. I think I’ll
go to bed early tonight.” Letting out a huff, Y folded her arms, clearly less than amused. “And make me cover for you again? You were only gone for a couple of hours. Do you know how much hard work I put into running this place while you were gone?” X raised his brow. “What, did we just-so-happen to get an influx of customers today?” “That’s beside the point.” She dismissed the question with a flick of her wrist, rolling over to the table he was at. However, now that she could see his form more closely, his tense posture and partial absence from the conversation at hand became much clearer. “
X you look unusally reserved. What happened?” At first, she wasn’t graced with a response whatsoever. A hand reached down for the other, but X couldn’t bring himself to get up, so Y perceived his silence as disinterest and returned it to her side. Seeing him lack his usual energy made Y’s heart ache; she knew better than to go picking fights with X when he was like this. He couldn’t meet his wife’s stare, regardless of how much he longed to lose himself in her shine of her exterior. Having Y nearby always helped X feel at ease, yet it wasn’t doing much in terms of assisting him today. “Let's just
close early today altogether.” “You sure?” “I demand it.” It was a curiosity-peaking situation, but Y held enough respect for her husband X to not press him further. “You can always talk to me, sweetheart, but I’m happy to close for the day.” “Is that so?” X asked. Rather than adopting the powerful tone of voice he used while scheming, he maintained his quiet one, which rung alarm bells in Y. Since he’d been almost completely zoned out of his surroundings, her husband hadn’t noticed the shotglass-sized bowl of soup she’d made him, and as she brought it over to him, she could see a crack of a thankful smile on his face. Y never really got anything more from him - ‘thank you’s didn’t qualify for villain-approved manners - but to her, that only made his perseverance more admirable. “I’ll bear that in mind.” X’s response came out in a hushed whisper, as if the world were listening to every syllable that left his throat. Words sunk their nails into his throat, trying to claw their way out between sips of soup, but to no avail. X was determined to keep his promise. X was no less satisfied to have his wife at his side. X had needed Y today, and she pulled through, as always. An unwavering pride in his companion was always one of his biggest drives in life. To see her face at the end of a long day was no less than a blessing, and while he could have lived a crime-free life, he wouldn’t trade his current place of residence or love of his life. Y’s silent verdict was that it now wasn’t even worth considering pressing for details; her husband slowly becoming at ease as he revelled in the soup was enough for her to not want to rile him up. She’d already done so earlier with their argument. Had either of them actually apologised? What were they even talking about? “
Are you still interested in getting some rest early, honey?” A tired eye trailing over to her, he set down the empty bowl. X was practically screaming at himself not to leak it all out to his wife as either whimpers or whines. “Would that be alright, my sweet?” X found himself carefully scooped up in his wife’s hands and escorted to the restaurant’s back rooms. She gave him the thumbs up. “That’s fine. You can take all the time you need, X. You look like you need it.” “I should be working. You’re too soft on me.” “Would you prefer I picked a fight with you right now?” “No.” “Then don’t complain.” Thankfully, Y didn’t hit a nerve; either that, or X simply hadn’t the strength to argue. The former didn’t mind no matter the answer though. Whatever he’d seen would be better processed after some good rest, Y was positive. The chatter lingered until they reached their resting area. X finally felt he was home. “There.” His wife said, muttering to herself. It didn’t concern her that her self-muttering was within ear-shot of her husband, obviously. “I’ll go get your blanket.” “You’ve done an awful lot for me today. Do you want something?” X blinked. Usually, Y would scold him for saying something like that in response to her favours, but she processed that he asked as a gesture of kindness, not as an investigative question. She gently rested a silky face flannel over him for a little warmth. “Just know I love you. That’s all I want in return.” “Th
ank. You.” 
!!!! Today was a mish-mash of weird circumstances, but the marriage of the two beings was just as unconventional. For a moment, the duo were lost in each-other’s eyes. Those two words - as messy as they’d come out - were bouncing off the walls and striking Y in her equivalent of a spine, pushing her a little closer to her husband until they were equal-viewing level. Poor Y thought of going to melt from the sudden increase of her internal temperature. Such tenderness; it made her swoon! Until he’d said it, he’d had no idea how long she’d been wanting to hear something like that. Something other than X’s plans The significantly taller leaned her monitor forward, as if to kiss him- but drew back. Now wasn’t the right time for something like that. Not when X had so much already on his mind. Oh, but those words had been so soft, so quaint. Though she’d stopped herself giving him a robotic kiss, Y savoured every second that they stood mere inches apart, that little bit of kindness holding a value to her that she was sure X had no idea of. He couldn’t feel the sparks of electricity rushing through her. X might not have any inkling at ALL that she cared in regards to what he said, nevermind the fact she felt like an exception happily caught in his network. Although, they must have at least meant something for him to attempt to say it, even if he’d become exhausted and drained from the last few hours. It was enough for her to let out a “Never a problem; supporting you is my job,” before adding on “but don’t you dare hold that against me when I refuse to wash the dishes.” The quip earned a stifled chuckle from her lover. It broke a little of the tension between them, but in a light, easy-to-digest way. As Y had leaned in, X had felt his heart pump a little faster, and a jittery feeling in his veins - a trace of something he hadn’t felt in a while. X could only wonder if she took anything away from that small exchange, barring the reminder of her duties. Did she feel anything or was it just him? He wasn’t even sure if she had a positive physical response, let alone a positive emotional response
 “No promises!” He laughed, before awkwardly coughing, unsure what to say now. That was one loooong period of silence. Was the restaurant owner just supposed to pretend nothing happened, or approach the topic? “Well- If you want to transfer yourself back into the building’s wall monitor for the night, there is no opposition here.” “That sounds nice. It’s how I imagine wrapping yourself in a blanket feels.” Y let out a sound emulating a yawn, hoping to dispel the sudden subdued awkwardness that’d washed over her husband. His feathery laugh had been much different to his more maniacal cackles. Far more genuine and fulfilled, and smooth. On one hand, seeing his mind off of the schemes for once made her want to spin with glee, but on the other, he was only acting so unusually because something had gone down. It was difficult for her to handle. “Based on how you describe it, of course.” If she could have given a true smile, Y would have, but gave upturned lips instead. X was pretty much at a loss for words, understanding her point and unable to refute it. Some part of X wished his wife had come with him, purely so he wouldn’t have to carry the burden of decisions alone as he was doing now. ‘Twas a selfish thought, and alas, X knew he had a word to keep. “Have a nice rest, sweetie. I’ll keep an eye out for any intruders.” “Hope your wall monitor is comfy.” “I’m sure it will be.” X curled himself up under the face flannel, his eyelid gently fluttering shut. “You mean a lot to me Y so don’t ever think you don’t, understand?” “Understood. Care to elaborate?” 
 “Honey?” 
 “X?” Snore. “
Ah.”
~ yes my favorite type of fanfiction consists of characters getting tenderly cared for and comforted after a lifetime of being forced to suffer alone in silence, no this doesn't say anything about me
𝐓𝐹𝐹𝐭𝐡 đšđ« đƒđšđ«đž (𝐖𝐞𝐝𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐝𝐚đČ 𝐟𝐚𝐧𝐟𝐱𝐜) 𝐄𝐧𝐱𝐝 𝐠𝐹𝐭 𝐬𝐹𝐩𝐞 𝐟𝐚𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐞𝐞𝐭𝐡 đ«đžđŠđšđŻđžđ 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐖𝐞𝐝𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐝𝐚đČ 𝐟𝐹𝐼𝐧𝐝 đĄđžđ«đŹđžđ„đŸ đ„đšđšđ€đąđ§đ  đšđŸđ­đžđ« đĄđžđ« 𝐧𝐹𝐰. ❞𝐇𝐼𝐠
❞ ❞𝐄𝐧𝐱𝐝
❞ đ‘ș𝒕𝒐𝒑 𝒈𝒊𝒗𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒎𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒑𝒖𝒑𝒑𝒚 𝒅𝒐𝒈 𝒆𝒚𝒆𝒔 𝐖𝐞𝐝𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐝𝐚đČ 𝐭𝐡𝐹𝐼𝐠𝐡𝐭. 𝐄𝐧𝐱𝐝 𝐬𝐱𝐠𝐡𝐞𝐝. âžđˆâ€™đ„đ„ đšđ đ«đžđž 𝐭𝐹 đĄđšđ„đ đČđšđźđ« 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐛𝐼𝐭 𝐝𝐹𝐧’𝐭 đžđ±đ©đžđœđ­ 𝐱𝐭 𝐭𝐹 𝐛𝐞 𝐚 đ«đžđ đźđ„đšđ«â€Šâž 𝐖𝐞𝐝𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐝𝐚đČ đ­đ«đšđąđ„đžđ 𝐹𝐟𝐟 𝐚𝐬 𝐄𝐧𝐱𝐝 𝐠𝐹𝐭 đĄđžđ« 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝.
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𝕰𝖓𝖎𝖉❜𝖘 𝖌𝖗𝖔𝖜𝖎𝖓𝖌 𝖔𝖓 𝖒𝖊 𝖑𝖎𝖐𝖊 𝖆 𝖋𝖑𝖊𝖘𝖍 𝖊𝖆𝖙𝖎𝖓𝖌 𝖋𝖚𝖓𝖌𝖚𝖘 - đ”šđ”ąđ”Ąđ”«đ”ąđ”°đ”Ąđ”žđ”¶ 𝔄𝔡𝔡𝔞đ”Ș𝔰
ᔆʷᔉᔉᔗ á”ˆÊłá”‰á”ƒá”Ëą âœá”†á”–á”’âżá”á”‰áŽźá”’á”‡ á¶ á”ƒâżá¶ â±á¶œâŸ áŽčÊłâ€§ áŽ·Êłá”ƒá”‡Ëą á”ˆá”‰Ëąá”—Êłá”’Êžá”‰á”ˆ ᔗʰᔉ ᶜʰᔘᔐ ᔇᔘᶜᔏᔉᔗ‧ áŽŸËĄá”ƒâżá”á”—á”’âż á”âżá”‰Ê· á”’âżËĄÊž Ëąá”–á”’âżá”á”‰ ᔇᔒᔇ ᔐⁱᔍʰᔗ ⁱⁿᔛⁱᔗᔉ ʰⁱᔐ➎ Ëąá”’ ʰᔉ Ê·á”‰âżá”— á”—á”’ ᔗʰᔉ á”–â±âżá”‰á”ƒá”–á”–ËĄá”‰ ʰᔒᔐᔉ‧ "áŽŸËĄá”ƒâżá”á”—á”’âż ' *á”ƒÊ·á”Ê·á”ƒÊłá”ˆ á¶œÊ°á”˜á¶œá”ËĄá”‰* ' ᶜᔒᔐᔉ ᔒⁿ ⁱⁿ!" á”†á”–á”’âżá”á”‰á”‡á”’á”‡ ᔒᔖᔉⁿ˹ ᔗʰᔉ á”ˆá”’á”’Êł á¶ á”’Êł ʰⁱᔐ‧ "á”€Ê°á”ƒâżá”ËąâžŽ ᔏⁱᔈ; ᎔'ᔐ á”—â±Êłá”‰á”ˆ ᔃⁿᔈ áŽ·Êłá”ƒá”‡Ëą á”ˆá”‰Ëąá”—Êłá”’Êžá”‰á”ˆâ€§â€§â€§" "ʞᔒᔘ á¶œá”ƒâż Ëąá”—á”ƒÊž ʷⁱᔗʰ ᔐᔉ➎ ⁱᶠ ʞᔒᔘ Ê·á”ƒâżá”—â€§" ᎎᔉ âżá”’á”—â±á¶œá”‰á”ˆ áŽŸËĄá”ƒâżá”á”—á”’âż ᔈⁱᔈ ËĄá”’á”’á” á”‰ËŁÊ°á”ƒá”˜Ëąá”—á”‰á”ˆâ€§ "Ꮀᔒ ʞᔒᔘ Ê·á”ƒâżá”— ᔐʞ ᔇᔉᔈ? á”€Ê°á”‰Êłá”‰'Ëą Êłá”’á”’á” á¶ á”’Êł ᔗʰᔉ ᔇᔒᔗʰ ᔒᶠ á”˜Ëąâ€§â€§â€§" "á”†á”˜Êłá”‰â€§" ᔆᔒ Ëąá”–á”’âżá”á”‰á”‡á”’á”‡ ᔖᔘᔗ ʰⁱᔐ ᔇʞ Ê°â±Ëą Ëąâ±á”ˆá”‰ ᔒⁿ ᔗʰᔉ ᔇᔉᔈ➎ á”–á”˜ËĄËĄâ±âżá” ᔘᔖ ᔗʰᔉ á”‡ËĄá”ƒâżá”á”‰á”—Ëąâ€§ "᎔'ᔐ Ëąá”’ÊłÊłÊž ᔃᔇᔒᔘᔗ‧‧‧" "á”†á”–á”’âżá”á”‰á”‡á”’á”‡ ᎔ á”âżá”’Ê· ʞᔒᔘ Ê·á”’Êłá” ʷⁱᔗʰ áŽ·Êłá”ƒá”‡ËąâžŽ ᔇᔘᔗ ⁱᔗ'Ëą ⁿᔒᔗ Êžá”’á”˜Êł á¶ á”ƒá”˜ËĄá”—â€§ ᎔ âżá”‰á”›á”‰Êł á”á”‰á”ƒâż ʞᔒᔘ á”ƒâżÊž Ê°á”ƒÊłá” ⁱⁿ ᔐʞ Ëąá¶œÊ°á”‰á”á”‰ËąâžŽ ᔇᔘᔗ ᎔ ᔍᔒᔗᔗᔃ ᔍᔉᔗ á”‡á”˜Ëąâ±âżá”‰ËąËą Ëąá”’á”á”‰Ê°á”’Ê· á”ƒâżá”ˆâ€§â€§â€§" "᎔ á”âżá”’Ê·âžŽ ᔃⁿᔈ ᎔ ˹ᔉᔉ ʞᔒᔘ ᔃ˹ ᔐʞ á¶ Êłâ±á”‰âżá”ˆ! Ꮁᔛᔉⁿ ᔗʰᔒᔘᔍʰ ᎔'ᔐ ⁿᔒᔗ á”á”’âżâżá”ƒ ˥ᔉᔗ ʞᔒᔘ ᔍᔉᔗ ᔃʷᔃʞ ʷⁱᔗʰ ᔗʰᔉ ᔖᔃᔗᔗʞ‧‧‧" "᎔'ËĄËĄ á”á”ƒâżá”ƒá”á”‰ Ëąá”’á”á”‰Ê°á”’Ê· Ëąá”’á”á”‰á”ˆá”ƒÊž ᔗʰᔒᔘᔍʰ‧ ᎔ á”âżá”’Ê· ᎔ Ê·á”ƒâżâżá”ƒ ᔇᔉ ᔃ Ëąá”˜á”–á”‰Êłâ»á”›â±ËĄËĄá”ƒâ±âżâžŽ ᔇᔘᔗ ᔉᔛᔉⁿ ᔇᔃᔈ á”á”˜ÊžËą á¶œá”ƒâż ʰᔃᔛᔉ ˹ᔒᶠᔗ ˹ᔖᔒᔗ˹‧ ʞᔒᔘ'Êłá”‰ ᔒⁿᔉ ᔒᶠ ᔐʞ á”’âżËĄÊž á¶ Êłâ±á”‰âżá”ˆËą ᔃⁿᔈ ᎔ á”ˆá”’âż'á”— Ê·á”ƒâżâżá”ƒ ᔗᔃᔏᔉ á¶ á”’Êł á”Êłá”ƒâżá”—á”‰á”ˆâ€§â€§â€§" áŽŸËĄá”ƒâżá”á”—á”’âż á”‰ËŁá”–ËĄá”ƒâ±âżá”‰á”ˆ á”—á”’ ʰⁱᔐ‧ á”†á”–á”’âżá”á”‰á”‡á”’á”‡ ᶠᔉ˥ᔗ ʰᔃᔖᔖʞ➎ Ê°á”‰á”ƒÊłâ±âżá” ʰⁱᔐ ᔒᔖᔉⁿ ᔘᔖ á”—á”’ ʰⁱᔐ‧ "᎔ á”ƒá”–á”–Êłá”‰á¶œâ±á”ƒá”—á”‰ ʞᔒᔘ ᔃ˹ Ê·á”‰ËĄËĄâ€§" ᎎᔉ á¶œá”˜ÊłËĄá”‰á”ˆ ᔘᔖ ⁿᔉˣᔗ á”—á”’ ʰⁱᔐ‧ "ʞᔒᔘ âżá”‰á”‰á”ˆ á”ƒâżÊžá”—Ê°â±âżá” ᔉ˥˹ᔉ áŽŸËĄá”ƒâżá”Ëą ʞᔒᔘ á¶œá”ƒâż á”—á”ƒËĄá” á”—á”’ ᔐᔉ‧" '‧‧‧' "ʞᔒᔘ á”âżá”’Ê·?" '‧‧‧' á”†á”–á”’âżá”á”‰á”‡á”’á”‡ á”—á”˜Êłâżá”‰á”ˆ á”’á”›á”‰Êłâ€§ "áŽŸËĄá”ƒâżá”á”—á”’âżâ€§â€§â€§" ' *Ëąâżá”’Êłâ±âżá”* ' "â€§â€§â€§á¶œá”ƒâż'á”— Ëąá”—á”ƒÊž ᔃʷᔃᔏᔉ á”ƒâżÊž ËĄá”’âżá”á”‰Êł ᎔ ˹ᔉᔉ áŽŸËĄá”ƒâżá”á”—á”’âżâ€§ áŽłá”’á”’á”ˆ âżâ±á”Ê°á”—â€§â€§â€§" á”†á”–á”’âżá”á”‰á”‡á”’á”‡ Ëąá”â±ËĄá”‰á”ˆâ€§
á‘«á”˜á”ƒËĄâ±á”—Êž ᔀⁱᔐᔉ 2024 âœá”†á”–á”’âżá”á”‰áŽźá”’á”‡ á¶ á”ƒâżá¶ â±á¶œâŸ "᎔ Ê·á”ƒâżá”— ᔗʰᔉ ᔇᔒᔗʰ ᔒᶠ ʞᔒᔘ á”—á”’ á”‡á”’âżá”ˆ ᔃ˹ á”‰á”á”–ËĄá”’Êžá”‰á”‰ËąâžŽ ᔃⁿᔈ ʞᔒᔘ á¶œá”ƒâż ᔗᔃᔏᔉ ᔃ á¶ Êłâ±á”‰âżá”ˆ ʷⁱᔗʰ ʞᔒᔘ ⁱᶠ ʞᔒᔘ ËĄâ±á”á”‰!" áŽčÊłâ€§ áŽ·Êłá”ƒá”‡Ëą á”—á”’ËĄá”ˆ á”†á‘«á”˜â±á”ˆÊ·á”ƒÊłá”ˆ ᔃⁿᔈ á”†á”–á”’âżá”á”‰ ᔇᔒᔇ‧ "᎔'ËĄËĄ ᔗᔃᔏᔉ áŽŸá”ƒá”—Êłâ±á¶œá”! ᔂʰᔒ'ËĄËĄ ʞᔒᔘ ᔗᔃᔏᔉ?" "᎔ᔗ'ËĄËĄ ᔇᔉ ᔃ Ëąá”˜Êłá”–Êłâ±Ëąá”‰â€§â€§â€§" ᔆᔃⁱᔈ á”†á‘«á”˜â±á”ˆÊ·á”ƒÊłá”ˆâ€§ "ᔀʰᔉ á”‡á”˜Ëą ËĄá”‰á”ƒá”›á”‰Ëą á”ƒá¶ á”—á”‰Êł Ê·á”’Êłá”!" áŽčÊłâ€§ áŽ·Êłá”ƒá”‡Ëą Êłá”‰á”â±âżá”ˆá”‰á”ˆ ᔗʰᔉᔐ‧ "᎔'ËĄËĄ ᔍᔒ ᔍᔉᔗ ᔐʞ á¶ Êłâ±á”‰âżá”ˆâ€§â€§â€§" á”†á‘«á”˜â±á”ˆÊ·á”ƒÊłá”ˆ á”—á”’ËĄá”ˆâ€§ 'ᔂʰᔒ ᔃᔐ ᎔ á”—á”’ ᔖⁱᶜᔏ? á”†á”ƒâżá”ˆÊž á”’âżËĄÊž á”‰âżá¶œá”’á”˜Êłá”ƒá”á”‰Ëą ᔗʰᔉ á”ƒâżâżá”’Êžâ±âżá” á”‡á”‰Ê°á”ƒá”›â±á”’á”˜Êł ᔒᶠ á”†á”–á”’âżá”á”‰á”‡á”’á”‡â€§' á”†á‘«á”˜â±á”ˆÊ·á”ƒÊłá”ˆ ËĄá”’á”’á”á”‰á”ˆ ᔃⁿᔈ Ëąá”ƒÊ· ᔗʰᔉ ᶜʰᔘᔐ ᔇᔘᶜᔏᔉᔗ‧ "ᔂʰᔒ ᔉ˥˹ᔉ‧‧‧" á”†á‘«á”˜â±á”ˆÊ·á”ƒÊłá”ˆ Ê·á”‰âżá”— á”—á”’ áŽŸËĄá”ƒâżá”á”—á”’âż'˱‧ á”‚Ê°á”‰âż á”—Ê°á”‰â±Êł Ê·á”’Êłá” ËąÊ°â±á¶ á”—'Ëą á”‰âżá”ˆá”‰á”ˆâžŽ ᔗʰᔉ á”‡á”˜Ëą ᶜᔃᔐᔉ ᔇʞ‧ áŽźá”’á”—Ê° á”†á”–á”’âżá”á”‰á”‡á”’á”‡ ᔃⁿᔈ áŽŸá”ƒá”—Êłâ±á¶œá” Ê·á”‰Êłá”‰ á”—á”’á”á”‰á”—Ê°á”‰Êł á”‰ËŁá¶œâ±á”—á”‰á”ˆËĄÊžâ€§ áŽŒâżá¶œá”‰ áŽčÊłâ€§ áŽ·Êłá”ƒá”‡Ëą ˥ᔉᶠᔗ ᔗʰᔉᔐ➎ á”†á‘«á”˜â±á”ˆÊ·á”ƒÊłá”ˆ á”ƒÊłÊłâ±á”›á”‰á”ˆ ʷⁱᔗʰ áŽŸËĄá”ƒâżá”á”—á”’âżâ€§ "á”†á”˜Êłá”–Êłâ±Ëąá”‰!" á”‚Ê°â±ËĄËąá”— ᔒⁿ ᔗʰᔉ á”‡á”˜ËąâžŽ á”†á‘«á”˜â±á”ˆÊ·á”ƒÊłá”ˆ ᔃⁿᔈ áŽŸËĄá”ƒâżá”á”—á”’âż Ëąá”ƒá”— ⁱⁿ ᔗʰᔉ á”‡á”‰âżá¶œÊ° Ëąá”‰á”ƒá”— ᔃᔈÊČá”ƒá¶œá”‰âżá”— á”—á”’ á”†á”–á”’âżá”á”‰á”‡á”’á”‡ ᔃⁿᔈ áŽŸá”ƒá”—Êłâ±á¶œá”â€§ "áŽŹÊłá”‰ ʷᔉ á”—Ê°á”‰Êłá”‰ ʞᔉᔗ?" "áŽșá”’!" áŽŸËĄá”ƒâżá”á”—á”’âż Êłá”‰á”–ËĄâ±á”‰á”ˆâ€§ á”†á‘«á”˜â±á”ˆÊ·á”ƒÊłá”ˆ'Ëą á¶ á”ƒËĄËĄá”‰âż á”ƒËąËĄá”‰á”‰á”– ᔃⁿᔈ ᔒᔖᔉⁿ ᔐᔒᔘᔗʰᔉᔈ➎ á”ˆá”’á¶»â±âżá” ᔒᶠᶠ‧ "áŽčá”˜Ëąá”— ᔇᔉ á”˜Ëąá”‰á”ˆ á”—á”’ 'ᔉᔐ‧‧‧" áŽŸËĄá”ƒâżá”á”—á”’âż ˹ᔃⁱᔈ á”á”’Ëąá”—ËĄÊž á”—á”’ Ê°â±á”Ëąá”‰ËĄá¶ â€§ áŽŸá”ƒá”—Êłâ±á¶œá”'Ëą ËĄá”ƒá”˜á”Ê°â±âżá” ʷⁱᔗʰ á”†á”–á”’âżá”á”‰á”‡á”’á”‡â€§ "ᎎᔃ?" á”†á‘«á”˜â±á”ˆÊ·á”ƒÊłá”ˆ Ëąâżá”ƒá”–á”–á”‰á”ˆ ᔃʷᔃᔏᔉ ᔃ˹ ᔗʰᔉʞ á”ƒÊłÊłâ±á”›á”‰á”ˆ á”—á”’ Ê·Ê°á”‰Êłá”‰ ᔗʰᔉʞ'Êłá”‰ á”—á”’ Ëąá”—á”ƒÊžâ€§ ᔀʰᔉʞ Ê·á”‰âżá”— ⁱⁿ ᔗʰᔉ Êłá”’á”’á”â€§ "᎔ á”—á”‰ËŁá”—á”‰á”ˆ áŽčÊłâ€§ áŽ·Êłá”ƒá”‡Ëą á”—á”’ ᔗᔉ˥˥ ʰⁱᔐ ʷᔉ'ᔛᔉ á”ƒÊłÊłâ±á”›á”‰á”ˆâ€§" á”†á”–á”’âżá”á”‰á”‡á”’á”‡ á”—á”’ËĄá”ˆâ€§ "Ꮀⁱᔈ ʞᔒᔘ á”‡Êłâ±âżá” á”ƒâżÊž Ëąâżá”ƒá¶œá”Ëą?" "ᎌᶠ á¶œá”’á”˜ÊłËąá”‰âžŽ áŽŸá”ƒá”—Êłâ±á¶œá”; ᎔ á”‡Êłá”’á”˜á”Ê°á”— ˹ᔒᔐᔉ á”–á”ƒá”—á”—â±á”‰Ëą!" áŽŸËĄá”ƒâżá”á”—á”’âż ÊČᔘᔐᔖᔉᔈ ᔘᔖ Ê·Ê°á”‰âż ʰᔉ Ê°á”‰á”ƒÊłá”ˆ á”†á”–á”’âżá”á”‰á”‡á”’á”‡'Ëą á”ƒâżËąÊ·á”‰Êłâ€§ "᎔'ᔛᔉ âżá”‰á”›á”‰Êł ʰᔃᔈ ᔒⁿᔉ á”‡á”‰á¶ á”’Êłá”‰â€§â€§â€§" áŽŸËĄá”ƒâżá”á”—á”’âż ˹ᔃⁱᔈ ᔃ˹ ʰᔉ á”—Êłâ±á”‰á”ˆ ⁿᔒᔗ á”—á”’ Ëąá”ƒËĄâ±á”›á”ƒá”—á”‰â€§ "ᔂᔉ'ËĄËĄ ʷᔃᔗᶜʰ ʞᔒᔘ ᔉᔃᔗ ⁱᔗ; ⁿᔒ á¶ á”˜âżâżÊž á”‡á”˜Ëąâ±âżá”‰ËąËą!" "᎔ á”ˆá”’âż'á”— á”âżá”’Ê· Ê°á”’Ê· ᔐᔘᶜʰ á”á”’Êłá”‰ ᔒᶠ Êžá”’á”˜Êł Ëąâżá”’Êłâ±âżá” ᎔ á¶œá”ƒâż ᔗᔃᔏᔉ➎ ⁿᔒ á”’á¶ á¶ á”‰âżá¶œá”‰â€§â€§â€§" áŽŸËĄá”ƒâżá”á”—á”’âż á”—á”’ËĄá”ˆ á”†á‘«á”˜â±á”ˆÊ·á”ƒÊłá”ˆ ᔃ˹ ᔗʰᔉʞ ËĄá”’á”’á”á”‰á”ˆ ᔃᔗ ᔇᔒᔗʰ ᔒᶠ ᔗʰᔉ á”‡á”‰á”ˆËą ⁱⁿ ᔗʰᔉ Êłá”’á”’á”â€§ "᎔'ËĄËĄ ËąÊ°á”ƒÊłá”‰; áŽŸá”ƒá”—Êłâ±á¶œá”'Ëą ᔃ ʰᔉᔃᔛʞ ËąËĄá”‰á”‰á”–á”‰ÊłâžŽ Ëąá”’ á”–á”‰ÊłÊ°á”ƒá”–Ëą á”†á‘«á”˜â±á”ˆÊ·á”ƒÊłá”ˆ á¶œá”ƒâż ËąÊ°á”ƒÊłá”‰ ʷⁱᔗʰ ʰⁱᔐ!" á”†á”–á”’âżá”á”‰á”‡á”’á”‡ á”—á”’ËĄá”ˆ ʰⁱᔐ‧ á”†á”–á”’âżá”á”‰á”‡á”’á”‡ Ê°á”‰ËĄá”–á”‰á”ˆ áŽŸËĄá”ƒâżá”á”—á”’âż Êłá”‰á”ƒá¶œÊ° ᔗʰᔉ ᔇᔉᔈ‧ "áŽłá”’á”’á”ˆâżâ±á”Ê°á”—â€§â€§â€§" ᔆᔃⁱᔈ á”†á”–á”’âżá”á”‰á”‡á”’á”‡âžŽ á¶ á”ƒËĄËĄâ±âżá” á”ƒËąËĄá”‰á”‰á”–â€§ "ʞᔒᔘ ᔗᔒ➎ ᔏⁱᔈ‧‧‧" áŽŸËĄá”ƒâżá”á”—á”’âż á”—á”’ËĄá”ˆ Ëąá”‰á”‰â±âżá” ʰⁱᔐ ˹˥ᔉᔉᔖ‧ ᎎᔉ ᔐᔒᔛᔉᔈ á¶œËĄá”’Ëąá”‰Êł á”—á”’ á”†á”–á”’âżá”á”‰á”‡á”’á”‡â€§ áŽŸá”ƒá”—Êłâ±á¶œá” ᔃʷᔒᔏᔉ ⁱⁿ ᔗʰᔉ á”â±á”ˆá”ˆËĄá”‰ ᔒᶠ ᔗʰᔉ âżâ±á”Ê°á”—â€§ ᎎᔉ á”âżá”‰Ê· á”‡á”‰á”—á”—á”‰Êł á”—Ê°á”ƒâż á”—á”’ ᔃʷᔃᔏᔉ á”†á‘«á”˜â±á”ˆÊ·á”ƒÊłá”ˆâ€§ ᎎᔉ Ê·á”‰âżá”— á”—á”’ ᔗʰᔉ á”’á”—Ê°á”‰Êł ᔇᔉᔈ‧ "ᎎᔉʞ á”†á”–á”’âżá”á”‰á”‡á”’á”‡â€§â€§â€§" áŽŸá”ƒá”—Êłâ±á¶œá” Ê·á”ƒá”á”‰Ëą ʰⁱᔐ‧ "᎟ᔃᔗ‧‧‧" "á¶œá”ƒâż ᎔ ᶜᔒᔐᔉ ᔘᔖ ʷⁱᔗʰ ʞᔒᔘ?" "á”†á”˜Êłá”‰âžŽ ÊČá”˜Ëąá”— ᔈᔒ ⁿᔒᔗ á”ˆâ±Ëąá”—á”˜Êłá”‡ áŽŸËĄá”ƒâżá”á”—á”’âżâ€§â€§â€§" á”†á”–á”’âżá”á”‰ ᔇᔒᔇ ˹ᔃⁱᔈ➎ Ëąá”‰á”‰â±âżá” ʰᔉ'ᔈ á¶ á”ƒËĄËĄá”‰âż á”ƒËąËĄá”‰á”‰á”– á¶œá”˜ÊłËĄá”‰á”ˆ ᔘᔖ ʷⁱᔗʰ ʰⁱᔐ‧ "ᔂʰʞ á”ƒÊłá”‰ ʞᔒᔘ ᔘᔖ?" "᎔ ÊČá”˜Ëąá”— âżá”‰á”‰á”ˆá”‰á”ˆ á”—á”’ ʰᔘᔍ‧‧‧" "áŽŸá”ƒá”—Êłâ±á¶œá”âžŽ ᶜᔒᔐᔉ á¶œËĄá”’Ëąá”‰Êłâ€§â€§â€§" á”†á”–á”’âżá”á”‰á”‡á”’á”‡ á”˜Ëąá”‰á”ˆ Ê°â±Ëą á¶ Êłá”‰á”‰ á”ƒÊłá” á”—á”’ á”‰á”á”‡Êłá”ƒá¶œá”‰ ʰⁱᔐ á”†â±âżá¶œá”‰ áŽŸËĄá”ƒâżá”á”—á”’âż'Ëą ËĄá”‰á”ƒâżâ±âżá” ᔒⁿ Ê°â±Ëą á”’á”—Ê°á”‰Êł Ê°á”ƒâżá”ˆâ€§ "á”†á”–á”’âżá”á”‰á”‡á”’á”‡ ᎔ á”ˆá”’âż'á”— á”—Ê°â±âżá” ᎔ᔛᔉ á”ƒá¶œá”—á”˜á”ƒËĄËĄÊž á”—á”ƒËĄá”á”‰á”ˆ á”—á”’ áŽŸËĄá”ƒâżá”á”—á”’âż á”‡á”‰á¶ á”’Êłá”‰â€§â€§â€§" "᎟ᔃᔗ ᔏᔉᔉᔖ Êžá”’á”˜Êł ᔛᔒⁱᶜᔉ á”ˆá”’Ê·âż! áŽźá”˜á”— Êžá”‰Ëą ʰᔉ á”—á”ƒá”á”‰Ëą ᔗⁱᔐᔉ á”—á”’ Ê·á”ƒÊłá” ᔘᔖ á”—á”’ ʞᔒᔘ➎ ËĄâ±á”á”‰ á”†á‘«á”˜â±á”ˆÊ·á”ƒÊłá”ˆâžŽ Ê·Ê°á”‰âż ʰᔉ á”á”‰á”—Ëą á”‡á”’á”—Ê°á”‰Êłá”‰á”ˆ á”‰á”ƒËąâ±ËĄÊžâ€§â€§â€§" "á¶œá”ƒâż ᎔ ᔍᔒ ᔇᔃᶜᔏ á”—á”’ ᔗʰᔉ á”’á”—Ê°á”‰Êł ᔇᔉᔈ?" "á”†á”˜Êłá”‰âžŽ ᎟ᔃᔗ‧‧‧" áŽźá”‰â±âżá” ᔗʰᔉ á¶ â±ÊłËąá”— ᔒⁿᔉ ᔘᔖ➎ áŽŸËĄá”ƒâżá”á”—á”’âż Ê·Êłá”’á”—á”‰ ᔃ ⁿᔒᔗᔉ Ëąá”ƒÊžâ±âżá” 'Ê·â±ËĄËĄ ᔇᔉ Êłâ±á”Ê°á”— ᔇᔃᶜᔏ' á”á”‰á”—á”—â±âżá” ᔒᔘᔗ ᔒᶠ ᔇᔉᔈ➎ á”ƒËĄá”—Ê°á”’á”˜á”Ê° ˹ᔗⁱ˥˥ á”—á”’ á”‰á”ƒÊłËĄÊž á”—á”’ Ëąá”—á”ƒÊłá”— ᔗʰᔉ ᔈᔃʞ‧ ᔀʰᔉ ˹ᔘⁿ'Ëą ⁿᔒᔗ ᔉᔛᔉⁿ á”‡á”ƒÊłá”‰ËĄÊž ᔘᔖ! ᔆᔒ ʰᔉ Ê·á”‰âżá”— á”—á”’ ᔗʰᔉ ᔐᔃⁱⁿ ËĄá”’á”‡á”‡Êž ᔒᔘᔗ‧ áŽčÊłâ€§ áŽ·Êłá”ƒá”‡Ëą á”ˆá”ƒá”˜á”Ê°á”—á”‰Êł áŽŸá”‰á”ƒÊłËĄ Ê°á”ƒá”–á”–á”‰âżá”‰á”ˆ á”—á”’ ᔇᔉ ʷⁱᔗʰ Ê°á”‰Êł á¶ Êłâ±á”‰âżá”ˆËą á”—Ê°á”‰Êłá”‰â€§ ᔆʰᔉ Êłá”‰á¶œá”’á”âżâ±Ëąá”‰á”ˆ ʰⁱᔐ ᔃ˹ Ê°á”‰Êł ᔈᔃᔈ'Ëą Êłâ±á”›á”ƒËĄâžŽ Ëąá”’ ËąÊ°á”‰ Ê·á”ƒâżá”—á”‰á”ˆ á”—á”’ Ëąá”—á”ƒâżá”ˆ ᔘᔖ á¶ á”’Êł Ê°á”‰Êł ᔈᔃᔈ‧ áŽșá”’á”— ʞᔉᔗ Ëąá”‰á”‰â±âżá” áŽŸá”‰á”ƒÊłËĄ ⁱⁿ ᔗʰᔉ ËĄá”’á”‡á”‡ÊžâžŽ áŽŸËĄá”ƒâżá”á”—á”’âż Ê·á”‰âżá”—â€§ "ᎎᔉʞ➎ áŽŸËĄá”ƒâżá”á”—á”’âż!" ᎎᔉ á”—á”˜Êłâżá”‰á”ˆ á”ƒÊłá”’á”˜âżá”ˆ á”—á”’ ˹ᔉᔉ áŽŸá”‰á”ƒÊłËĄ ᔃ˹ ËąÊ°á”‰ ᔖⁱᶜᔏᔉᔈ ʰⁱᔐ ᔘᔖ‧ "᎔ á”âżá”’Ê· ʷʰᔃᔗ Êłá”‰á”ƒËĄ ᶠᔒᔒᔈ ⁱ˹‧‧‧" ᔆʰᔉ ˹ᔃⁱᔈ➎ á”—Ê°â±âżá”â±âżá” ᔃᔇᔒᔘᔗ ᔗʰᔉ ᶠᔒᔒᔈ á”‡á”˜Ëąâ±âżá”‰ËąËąâ€§ áŽŸËĄá”ƒâżá”á”—á”’âż Ê°á”’Ê· á”‰á”›á”‰Êł ᔗʰᔒᔘᔍʰᔗ ËąÊ°á”‰ á”á”‰á”ƒâżá”— á”‰á”ƒá”—â±âżá” ʰⁱᔐ‧ "ʞᔒᔘ'Êłá”‰ Ëąá”’ ˹ᔐᔃ˥˥➎ Ëąá”’ ᎔ á”ˆá”’âż'á”— á”—Ê°â±âżá” ʞᔒᔘ'ËĄËĄ ᔇᔉ á”ƒá”‡ËĄá”‰ á”—á”’ ᔈᔒ ᔐᔘᶜʰ!" ᔆʰᔉ á”—Ê°Êłá”‰Ê· ʰⁱᔐ á”ˆá”’Ê·âż á”‡á”‰á”â±âżâżâ±âżá” á”—á”’ Ê·á”ƒËĄá” á”’á”›á”‰Êł á”—á”’ ʰⁱᔐ‧ ᎎᔉ á¶œÊłâ±á”‰á”ˆ ᔃ˹ ʰᔉ Êłá”ƒâż ᔇᔃᶜᔏ á”—á”’ ᔗʰᔉ Êłá”’á”’á” ʷⁱᔗʰ ᔗʰᔉ á”’á”—Ê°á”‰ÊłËąâžŽ ËĄá”’á¶œá”â±âżá” ᔗʰᔉ á”ˆá”’á”’Êł ᔃⁿᔈ á”á”‰á”—á”—â±âżá” Êłâ±á”ˆ ᔒᶠ ᔗʰᔉ ⁿᔒᔗᔉ ʰᔉ ˥ᔉᶠᔗ‧ ᎎᔉ Ê·Ê°â±á”á”–á”‰Êłá”‰á”ˆ ᔃ˹ ʰᔉ ᔍᔒᔗ ᔇᔃᶜᔏ ᔒⁿ ᔇᔉᔈ‧ á”†á”–á”’âżá”á”‰á”‡á”’á”‡ ʷᔒᔏᔉ ᔘᔖ á”—á”’ áŽŸËĄá”ƒâżá”á”—á”’âż Ëąá”’á¶ á”—ËĄÊž á¶œÊłÊžâ±âżá” ᔃⁿᔈ á¶ Êłá”’á¶»á”‰âż ⁱⁿ á¶ á”‰á”ƒÊłâ€§ "áŽŸËĄá”ƒâżá”á”—á”’âżâ€§â€§â€§" á”†á”–á”’âżá”á”‰á”‡á”’á”‡ Ëąá”ƒá”— ᔘᔖ ᔃ˹ áŽŸËĄá”ƒâżá”á”—á”’âż ᔈⁱᔈⁿ'á”— Êłá”‰á”–ËĄÊžâ€§ á”†á”–á”’âżá”á”‰ ᔇᔒᔇ Êłá”‰á”ƒá¶œÊ°á”‰á”ˆ Ê°â±Ëą Ê°á”ƒâżá”ˆ ᔒᔘᔗ Ê·Ê°á”‰âż ʰᔉ á¶ ËĄâ±âżá¶œÊ°á”‰á”ˆ ʷⁱᔗʰ ᔃ á¶œÊłÊžâ€§ "á”†á”’ÊłÊłÊž ᎔ ÊČá”˜Ëąá”— Ê·á”ƒâżá”— á”—á”’ Ê°á”‰ËĄá”–âžŽ ᎔'ᔐ Ê°á”‰Êłá”‰ á¶ á”’Êł ʞᔒᔘ‧ áŽŹâżÊžá”—Ê°â±âżá” ᎔ á¶œá”ƒâż ᔈᔒ?" áŽŒâżËĄÊž Êłá”‰Ëąá”–á”’âżá”ˆâ±âżá” ʷⁱᔗʰ ᔃ Ê·Ê°â±á”á”–á”‰ÊłâžŽ áŽŸËĄá”ƒâżá”á”—á”’âż ˹ᔗⁱ˥˥ ËąÊ°á”‰á”ˆ á”—á”‰á”ƒÊłËąâ€§ á”†á”–á”’âżá”á”‰ ᔇᔒᔇ'Ëą á”–Ê°á”’âżá”‰ Ëąá”—á”ƒÊłá”—á”‰á”ˆ á”—á”’ Êłâ±âżá”â€§ ᎎᔉ ᔖⁱᶜᔏᔉᔈ ⁱᔗ ᔘᔖ á”—á”’ ᶠⁱⁿᔈ áŽŸá”‰á”ƒÊłËĄ ᔒⁿ ᔗʰᔉ á”’á”—Ê°á”‰Êł á”‰âżá”ˆâ€§ "᎔ Ëąá”ƒÊ· áŽŸËĄá”ƒâżá”á”—á”’âż ᔃᔗ ᔗʰᔉ á”–ËĄá”ƒá¶œá”‰ ᎔'ᔐ Ëąá”—á”ƒÊžâ±âżá”âžŽ ᎔ á”ˆá”’âż'á”— á”âżá”’Ê· ⁱᶠ ʞᔒᔘ Ê·á”ƒâżâżá”ƒ ᔗᔉ˥˥ ᔐʞ ᔈᔃᔈ‧‧‧" "ʞᔒᔘ Ëąá”ƒÊ· ʰⁱᔐ?" "᎔ á”—á”’ËĄá”ˆ ʰⁱᔐ ᔒⁿ á”‡á”‰Ê°á”ƒËĄá¶  ᔒᶠ ᔐʞ ᔈᔃᔈ Ê°á”’Ê· ʰᔉ á”ˆá”’á”‰Ëąâż'á”— á”âżá”’Ê· ʷʰᔃᔗ ᔍᔒᔒᔈ ᶠᔒᔒᔈ ⁱ˹ ᔃⁿᔈ Ê°á”’Ê· ʰᔉ á¶œá”ƒâż'á”— ᔈᔒ á”ƒâżÊžá”—Ê°â±âżá” ᔃᔇᔒᔘᔗ‧‧‧" "᎔'ËĄËĄ ᔗᔃᔏᔉ á¶œá”ƒÊłá”‰ ᔒᶠ ⁱᔗ!" ᎎᔉ Ê°á”ƒâżá”Ëą ᔘᔖ ᔒⁿ áŽŸá”‰á”ƒÊłËĄâžŽ âżá”’Ê· á”âżá”’Ê·â±âżá” ᔗʰᔉ Êłá”‰á”ƒËąá”’âż á”‡á”‰Ê°â±âżá”ˆ áŽŸËĄá”ƒâżá”á”—á”’âż'Ëą á”‡á”‰Ê°á”ƒá”›â±á”’á”˜Êłâ€§ "᎔ ᔍᔒᔗ ʞᔒᔘ; ʞᔒᔘ'Êłá”‰ Ëąá”ƒá¶ á”‰â€§â€§â€§" áŽŸËĄá”ƒâżá”á”—á”’âż ËĄá”’á”’á”á”‰á”ˆ ᔘᔖ ᔃᔗ á”†á”–á”’âżá”á”‰á”‡á”’á”‡â€§ "áŽŸá”‰á”ƒÊłËĄ'Ëą ⁿᔒᔗ á”á”’âżâżá”ƒ á”‰âżá”ˆ ᔘᔖ Ê°á”ƒÊłá”â±âżá” ʞᔒᔘ➎ ᎔ á”–Êłá”’á”â±Ëąá”‰! áŽ±á”›á”‰ÊłÊžá”—Ê°â±âżá”'Ëą ᶠⁱⁿᔉ âżá”’Ê·âžŽ Ëąá”’ ÊČá”˜Ëąá”— á”‡Êłá”‰á”ƒá”—Ê°á”‰âžŽ ⁱⁿ ᔃⁿᔈ ᔒᔘᔗ‧‧‧" á”†á”–á”’âżá”á”‰á”‡á”’á”‡ Ëąá”—Êłá”’á”á”‰á”ˆ Ê°â±Ëą á”ƒâżá”—á”‰âżâżá”ƒ Ê·Ê°â±ËĄËąá”— á¶œá”ƒËĄá”â±âżá” á”ˆá”’Ê·âżâ€§ "ᔂᔉ á¶œá”ƒâż ᔃ˥˥ ᔗᔃᔏᔉ ᔗʰᔉ ⁿᔉˣᔗ á”‡á”˜Ëą ʰᔒᔐᔉ‧‧‧" áŽŸËĄá”ƒâżá”á”—á”’âż á¶œËĄá”’Ëąá”‰á”ˆ Ê°â±Ëą ᔉʞᔉ‧ THE END
🌒 🌑 🌘 đŸŸ đŸ± đŸŸ 🌒 🌑 🌘
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á”‚á”‰á”ˆâżá”‰Ëąá”ˆá”ƒÊž á”‚â±Ëąá”ˆá”’á” âœá”‚á”‰á”ˆâżá”‰Ëąá”ˆá”ƒÊž á¶ á”ƒâżá¶ â±á¶œâŸ "á”†á”’ÊłÊłÊž ʞᔒᔘ ᔍᔒᔗᔗᔃ‧‧‧" "᎔ ËĄâ±á”á”‰ ⁱᔗ‧" á”‚á”‰á”ˆâżá”‰Ëąá”ˆá”ƒÊž Êłá”‰á”–ËĄâ±á”‰á”ˆ á”—á”’ áŽ±âżâ±á”ˆâ€§ ᔆʰᔉ ÊČá”˜Ëąá”— ᔍᔒᔗ ᔃ˥˥ Ê°á”‰Êł Ê·â±Ëąá”ˆá”’á” ᔗᔉᔉᔗʰ âżá”’Ê· á”‰ËŁá”—Êłá”ƒá¶œá”—á”‰á”ˆ ᔗᔒᔈᔃʞ‧ "᎔'ᔐ Ëąá”’ á”‰ËŁá¶œâ±á”—á”‰á”ˆ ᎔ á¶œá”ƒâż á”‡á”ƒÊłá”‰ËĄÊž á¶œá”’âżá”—á”ƒâ±âż á”ÊžËąá”‰ËĄá¶ â€§ ʞᔒᔘ á¶ á”ƒâ±ËĄá”‰á”ˆ á”—á”’ ᔗᔉ˥˥ ᔐᔉ Ê°á”’Ê· ᔉⁿÊČá”’Êžá”ƒá”‡ËĄá”‰ ⁱᔗ'Ëą á”—á”’ ᔍᔉᔗ ᔗᔉᔉᔗʰ á”–á”˜ËĄËĄá”‰á”ˆâ€§" ᔆᔃⁱᔈ á”‚á”‰á”ˆâżá”‰Ëąá”ˆá”ƒÊžâ€§ "ᎱⁿÊČá”’Êžá”ƒá”‡ËĄá”‰â€œ" Ꮁⁿⁱᔈ ËąÊ°á”’á”’á” Ê°á”‰Êł ʰᔉᔃᔈ‧
A could still remember it as if it were yesterday. The day A had officially stomped away from his best friend B. A remembered it clearly. The look on the his friend B’s face stood out in his memory. The pure look of betrayal, the one that still occasionally popped up in his dreams, begging for him to turn around. That one. He found it once again haunting his mind as he stirred in his sleep and shot up like a rocket, ready to scream sorry, only to realize that it was all still a dream. A sniffed coldly and glimpses around, remembering how his home had been demolished mere hours earlier. Everything. A gave up everything, and what did he have to show for it? Even his wife that he bickered with had left him. Sure, it was on good terms, and part of A was happy for her, as she held the hand of her new lover and stared down at him, void of any emotion. “I’m sorry.” She mumbled, and then turn and left. When she had returned they sat down and talked about it for what felt like hours. She hugged A close as if he were a child, but still, nothing. They never had any sparks between them, and for a long while, that was okay. But with the two of them rapidly aging, she decided it was now or never that she found herself a new start. With a bittersweet goodbye this time she left for good. Slowly, he lifted a piece of rubble into his arms and threw it over himself in hopes of keeping warm. Of course, the metal only worsened the situation, so in despair, he glanced up yet again and peered around before he spotted a book. Grimacing, A stood up and stared to drag the paperback over to where he had been curled up previously, preparing to shield both himself. A whined in impatience, his eye caught sight of the ripped sheet and he dropped it entirely, staring down the old photo. It was of him and B. In the photo, A sat with a cheerful grin on the other’s shoulder, smiling as if he were the happiest boy in the world. Smiling fondly at the memory, he decided it was true. He certainly was the happiest boy alive back then. A didn’t realize he was crying until teardrops stained the page. It had been years since he had last skimmed through the pages of his old scrapbook, and it brought the memories from long ago back into the front of his head. Truly, he found himself closing his eye and begging for another chance under his breath; when he opened it, he found himself staring up at his rival B with shock. B leaned down and held out his hand. A naturally recoiled at the memory of the many times he was thrown about by those same hands. Frowning, he stared up at the the man as if he hadn’t just been sobbing over his photo. “What do you want?” He spat out, his malice sounding weaker than usual. He told himself it was the cold doing it to him. Right away, his old friend gently wrapped his claw around him and lifted him up. “A, it’s below freezing and you’ve no place to sleep,” he reasoned quietly, shamefully, “please, come stay with me.” “I was doing fine where I was.” It was a weak lie, but being in the hold of the other again rendered him soft, and he didn’t want B to see that. He squirmed out of the other’s hold and back onto the hard ground. “A...” B muttered sadly, before his eyes flickered over the photo that was now covering the other’s shivering body, his eyes peeking up gleefully. “You...you kept this photo? After so many years?” A sighed and pulled the photo tighter over him, ignoring the words. He obviously had kept the photo, after all. What else was he supposed to say? The man took notice of the book laying face down as well, gingerly lifting it up and instantly releasing a chuckle. “Oh, I remember this...” he smiled fondly and once again held out his hand for his old comrade. “Please, A... I can’t stand to see you so helpless.” A huffed and crossed his arms. While he wanted desperately to go to B’s warm home, he couldn’t help but leave his defenses up. “Then look away.” B did just that, and A found himself actually afraid of the other walking away. He wanted to call out to him, but he didn’t have to. The other turned back around and started to pull out his wallet. Right away, A shivered. The idea of B of all people giving him money was something he could barely stand to witness. He turned his head and waited, but instead of a dollar, B handed him a photo. A couldn’t believe it. The same photo that was tightly held around his body for some sort of warmth was carefully displayed in his wallet, which was easily his most prized possession. “B.” A couldn’t help but feel his eye fill up with tears. A really didn’t want to cry—not here in the cold, not now with his rival in front of him— but he couldn’t hold back the tears that slid down his cheek. “How long have you...” he couldn’t even finish his sentence, he was choking up so bad. B held out his hand one last time, and with a gentle smile, A tenderly stepped into it, who nervously boarded the hand. With his free hand, B put away his photo and wallet and lifted the other book into his arms, safely sliding his old friend A into his front shirt pocket. A couldn’t help but feel vulnerable. B could easily flick him away at any point he wanted, but he knew that he wouldn’t. As B carried the dozing A home, he found himself growing tired. A sniffled slightly as he was tucked in as if her were a child by his friend, a tender smile lined on his face. A didn’t know what would come tomorrow. He had lost his home, his job, his wife, his livelihood. But still, somehow, he had dug up his estranged relationship and revived it and found the friend he had missed for so long. Once the light was flicked off, A gingerly stepped out hopped onto the larger man’s bed, sneaking back with only a pillow from the bed. He yawned and grinned as a hand tenderly found the back of his head and nuzzled it gently. “I’ve missed this.” Was all A could muster up in the darkness, his eye trembling shut. “I’ve missed you.” B just hummed in contentment and swallowed hard. “Me too, buddy, me too.”
đ’Ÿ đ“Œđ’¶đ“ƒđ“‰ 𝓉℮ 𝓁℮℮𝓀 đ“đ’Ÿđ“€â„Ż đ’¶ 𝓈𝓌ℯℯ𝓉 đ’č℮𝓁𝓁 đ’·đ“Šđ“‰ đ’¶đ“đ“ˆâ„Ž đ’¶ đ“‰đ’Ÿđ“‚ đ’·đ“Šđ“‡đ“‰â„Žđ“ƒ đ’čđ“‡đ’¶đ“Œđ’Ÿđ“ƒđ‘”
Pansyk ‱6mo ago Personally, reading and writing fanfiction has really helped me with my technical skills. When I look over the fanfiction I have written over the years, I can see how my prose and dialogue have improved. All fiction, whether of the fan or original variety, is built off of the basic idea of "making words sound good." And fanfiction is a perfectly acceptable way to do that. However, the way that fanfiction operates in terms of characterization and plot? That's radically different from original fiction. In fanfiction, characters are already established, so even if you're doing some batshit insane Alternate Universe, everyone already knows the basics of what's up. That's not true of original fiction. You need to devote more time to both fleshing out your characters and establishing their relationships with the rest of the cast. Plot often progresses differently, in part because of the time you just spent showing your readers who these people are, but also because fanfiction and original fiction often follow different structures entirely. Fanfiction is free and accessible to anyone with an internet connection. That makes it useful for new authors, especially young authors. Think of it as swimming in shallow water. It's fun! It can help you build up some strength. Anyone can do it. But it won't completely prepare you for diving into deeper water. So, I guess at the end of the day, reading both will help your development as a writer.
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https://archiveofourown.org/works/41690487/chapters/105246894#workskin A Cry For Kelp DiscardMyHeart Fandom: SpongeBob SquarePants (Cartoon) Characters: Squidward Tentacles, Sheldon J. Plankton, Karen (SpongeBob)Sandy Cheeks, Eugene Krabs https://archiveofourown.org/works/41690487/chapters/104866263#workskin Language: English Stats: Published:2022 https://archiveofourown.org/works/41690487/chapters/105246894#workskin
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